The Pearl

A Journal of Facetive and Voluptuous Reading

Author Anonymous
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$20.00 US
On sale Sep 29, 1996 | 656 Pages | 978-0-345-41004-7
This volume contains the full text of all issues of The Pearl, the underground magazine of Victorian England. The Pearl made its debut in London in 1879, a self-proclaimed journal of unblushing erotica for every taste. It flourished on the subterranean market until December 1880, when it vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared. Included in the eighteen issues were six serialized novels that are standards of the erotic literature of the time, as well as the meatiest limericks then current, parodies of Robert Burns's Merry Muses, ballads of epic sexual adventures, countless ditties, witticisms, jokes, letters from 'readers,' and a potpourri of the scatological and scandalous gossip of the day.
AN APOLOGY FOR OUR TITLE.
 
Having decided to bring out a Journal, the Editor racks his brains for a suitable name with which to christen his periodical. Friends are generally useless in an emergency of this kind; they suggest all kinds of impossible names; the following were some of the titles proposed in this instance: “Facts and Fancies,” “The Cremorne,” “The All Round,” “The Monthly Courses,” “The Devil’s Own,” and “Dugdale’s Ghost”; the two first had certainly great attractions to our mind, but at last our own ideas have hit upon the modest little “Pearl,” as more suitable, especially in the hope that when it comes under the snouts of the moral and hypocritical swine of the world, they may not trample it underfoot, and feel disposed to rend the publisher, but that a few will become subscribers on the quiet. To such better disposed piggywiggys, I would say, for encouragement, that they have only to keep up appearances by regularly attending church, giving to charities, and always appearing deeply interested in moral philanthropy, to ensure a respectable and highly moral character, and that if they only are clever enough never to be found out, they may, sub rosa, study and enjoy the philosophy of life till the end of their days, and earn a glorious and saintly epitaph on their tombstone, when at last the Devil pegs them out.
EDITOR OF THE “PEARL.”
 
SUB-UMBRA, OR SPORT AMONG THE SHE-NOODLES.
 
The merry month of May has always been famous for its propitious influence over the voluptuous senses of the fairer sex.
 
I will tell you two or three little incidents which occurred to me in May, 1878, when I went to visit my cousins in Sussex, or as I familiarly call them, the She-Noodles, for the sport they afforded me at various times.
 
My uncle’s is a nice country residence, standing in large grounds of its own, and surrounded by small fields of arable and pasture land, interspersed by numerous interesting copses, through which run footpaths and shady walks, where you are not likely to meet anyone in a month. I shall not trouble my readers with the name of the locality, or they may go pleasure hunting for themselves. Well, to go on, these cousins consisted of Annie, Sophie, and Polly, beside their brother Frank, who, at nineteen, was the eldest, the girls being, respectively, eighteen, sixteen, and fifteen. After dinner, the first day of my arrival, paterfamilias and mamma both indulged in a snooze in their armchair, whilst us boys and girls (I was the same age as Frank) took a stroll in the grounds. I attached myself more particularly to cousin Annie, a finely developed blonde, with deep blue eyes, pouting red lips, and a full heaving bosom, which to me looked like a perfect volcano of smothered desires. Frank was a very indolent fellow, who loved to smoke his cigar, and expected his sisters, who adored him, to sit by his side, reading some of the novels of the day, or tell him their love secrets, &c. This was by far too tame an amusement for me, and as I had not been there for nearly three years, I requested Annie to show me the improvements in the grounds before we went in to tea, saying to Frank, banteringly, “I suppose, old fellow, you’re too lazy, and would prefer your sister taking me round?”
 
“I’m too comfortable; lazy is an ugly word, Walter, but the fact is, Soph is just reading a most interesting book, and I can’t leave it,” he replied; “besides, sissie is quite as well, or better qualified than I am to show off the grounds. I never notice anything.”
 
“Come on, Annie,” said I taking her hand; “Frank is in love.”
 
“No, I’m sure he never thinks of a girl, except his sisters,” was the reply.
 
We were now out of earshot, in a shady walk, so I went on a little more freely. “But, surely you, coz, are in love, if he is not. I can tell it by your liquid eye and heaving bosom.”
 
A scarlet flush shot over her features at my allusion to her finely moulded bosom, but it was evidently pleasing, and far from offensive, to judge by her playfully spoken, “Oh! Walter, for shame, sir!”
 
We were a good distance away by this time, and a convenient seat stood near, so throwing my arms around the blushing girl, I kissed her ruby lips, and drawing her with me, said, “Now, Annie, dear, I’m your cousin and old playfellow, I couldn’t help kissing those beautiful lips, which I might always make free with when we were little boy and girl together; now you shall confess all before I let you go.”
 
“But I’ve nothing to confess, sir.”
 
Do you never think of love, Annie? Look me in the face if you can say it’s a stranger to your bosom,” putting my hand familiarly round her neck till my right hand rested on one of the panting globes of her bosom.
 
She turned her face to mine, suffused as it was by a deeper blush than ever, as her dark blue eyes met mine, in a fearless search of my meaning, but instead of speaking in response to this mute appeal, I kissed her rapturously, sucking in the fragrance of her sweet breath till she fairly trembled with emotion.
 
It was just beginning to get dusk, my hands were caressing the white, firm flesh of her beautiful neck, slowly working their way towards the heaving bubbies a little lower down; at last I whispered, “What a fine, what a lovely bust you have developed since I saw you last, dear Annie, you won’t mind your cousin, will you, when everything used to be so free to each other; besides, what harm can there be in it?”
 
She seemed on fire, a thrill of emotion seemed to shoot through both of us, and for several moments she lay almost motionless in my arms, with one hand resting on my thigh. Priapus was awake and ready for business, but she suddenly aroused herself, saying, “We must never stop here, let us walk round or they will suspect something.”
 
“When shall we be alone again, darling? We must arrange that before we go in,” I said quickly.
 
It was impossible to keep her on the seat, but as we walked on she said, musingly, “To-morrow morning we might go for a stroll before lunch, Frank lies in bed, and my sisters are keeping house this week; I shall have to mind the tarts and pies next week.”
 
I gave her another hug and a kiss, as I said, “How delightful that will be; what a dear, thoughtful girl you are, Annie.”
 
“Mind, sir, how you behave to-morrow, not so much kissing, or I shan’t take you for a second walk; here we are at the house.”
 
Next morning was gloriously warm and fine; as soon as breakfast was over we started for our stroll, being particularly minded by papa to be back in good time for luncheon.
 
I gradually drew out my beautiful cousin, till our conversation got exceedingly warm, the hot blood rushing in waves of crimson over her shamefaced visage.
 
“What a rude boy you have grown Walter, since you were here last; I can’t help blushing at the way you run on, sir!” she exclaimed at last.
 
“Annie, my darling,” I replied, “what can be more pleasing than to talk of fun with pretty girls, the beauties of their legs and bosoms, and all about them? How I should love to see your lovely calf at this moment, especially after the glimpses I have already had of a divine ankle,” saying which I threw myself under a shady tree, close by a gate in a meadow, and drew the half-resisting girl down on the grass at my side, and kissed her passionately, as I murmured, “Oh! Annie, what is there worth living for like the sweets of love?”
 
Her lips met mine in a fiery embrace, but suddenly disengaging herself, her eyes cast down, and looking awfully abashed, she stammered out, “What is it? what do you mean, Walter?”
 

About

This volume contains the full text of all issues of The Pearl, the underground magazine of Victorian England. The Pearl made its debut in London in 1879, a self-proclaimed journal of unblushing erotica for every taste. It flourished on the subterranean market until December 1880, when it vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared. Included in the eighteen issues were six serialized novels that are standards of the erotic literature of the time, as well as the meatiest limericks then current, parodies of Robert Burns's Merry Muses, ballads of epic sexual adventures, countless ditties, witticisms, jokes, letters from 'readers,' and a potpourri of the scatological and scandalous gossip of the day.

Excerpt

AN APOLOGY FOR OUR TITLE.
 
Having decided to bring out a Journal, the Editor racks his brains for a suitable name with which to christen his periodical. Friends are generally useless in an emergency of this kind; they suggest all kinds of impossible names; the following were some of the titles proposed in this instance: “Facts and Fancies,” “The Cremorne,” “The All Round,” “The Monthly Courses,” “The Devil’s Own,” and “Dugdale’s Ghost”; the two first had certainly great attractions to our mind, but at last our own ideas have hit upon the modest little “Pearl,” as more suitable, especially in the hope that when it comes under the snouts of the moral and hypocritical swine of the world, they may not trample it underfoot, and feel disposed to rend the publisher, but that a few will become subscribers on the quiet. To such better disposed piggywiggys, I would say, for encouragement, that they have only to keep up appearances by regularly attending church, giving to charities, and always appearing deeply interested in moral philanthropy, to ensure a respectable and highly moral character, and that if they only are clever enough never to be found out, they may, sub rosa, study and enjoy the philosophy of life till the end of their days, and earn a glorious and saintly epitaph on their tombstone, when at last the Devil pegs them out.
EDITOR OF THE “PEARL.”
 
SUB-UMBRA, OR SPORT AMONG THE SHE-NOODLES.
 
The merry month of May has always been famous for its propitious influence over the voluptuous senses of the fairer sex.
 
I will tell you two or three little incidents which occurred to me in May, 1878, when I went to visit my cousins in Sussex, or as I familiarly call them, the She-Noodles, for the sport they afforded me at various times.
 
My uncle’s is a nice country residence, standing in large grounds of its own, and surrounded by small fields of arable and pasture land, interspersed by numerous interesting copses, through which run footpaths and shady walks, where you are not likely to meet anyone in a month. I shall not trouble my readers with the name of the locality, or they may go pleasure hunting for themselves. Well, to go on, these cousins consisted of Annie, Sophie, and Polly, beside their brother Frank, who, at nineteen, was the eldest, the girls being, respectively, eighteen, sixteen, and fifteen. After dinner, the first day of my arrival, paterfamilias and mamma both indulged in a snooze in their armchair, whilst us boys and girls (I was the same age as Frank) took a stroll in the grounds. I attached myself more particularly to cousin Annie, a finely developed blonde, with deep blue eyes, pouting red lips, and a full heaving bosom, which to me looked like a perfect volcano of smothered desires. Frank was a very indolent fellow, who loved to smoke his cigar, and expected his sisters, who adored him, to sit by his side, reading some of the novels of the day, or tell him their love secrets, &c. This was by far too tame an amusement for me, and as I had not been there for nearly three years, I requested Annie to show me the improvements in the grounds before we went in to tea, saying to Frank, banteringly, “I suppose, old fellow, you’re too lazy, and would prefer your sister taking me round?”
 
“I’m too comfortable; lazy is an ugly word, Walter, but the fact is, Soph is just reading a most interesting book, and I can’t leave it,” he replied; “besides, sissie is quite as well, or better qualified than I am to show off the grounds. I never notice anything.”
 
“Come on, Annie,” said I taking her hand; “Frank is in love.”
 
“No, I’m sure he never thinks of a girl, except his sisters,” was the reply.
 
We were now out of earshot, in a shady walk, so I went on a little more freely. “But, surely you, coz, are in love, if he is not. I can tell it by your liquid eye and heaving bosom.”
 
A scarlet flush shot over her features at my allusion to her finely moulded bosom, but it was evidently pleasing, and far from offensive, to judge by her playfully spoken, “Oh! Walter, for shame, sir!”
 
We were a good distance away by this time, and a convenient seat stood near, so throwing my arms around the blushing girl, I kissed her ruby lips, and drawing her with me, said, “Now, Annie, dear, I’m your cousin and old playfellow, I couldn’t help kissing those beautiful lips, which I might always make free with when we were little boy and girl together; now you shall confess all before I let you go.”
 
“But I’ve nothing to confess, sir.”
 
Do you never think of love, Annie? Look me in the face if you can say it’s a stranger to your bosom,” putting my hand familiarly round her neck till my right hand rested on one of the panting globes of her bosom.
 
She turned her face to mine, suffused as it was by a deeper blush than ever, as her dark blue eyes met mine, in a fearless search of my meaning, but instead of speaking in response to this mute appeal, I kissed her rapturously, sucking in the fragrance of her sweet breath till she fairly trembled with emotion.
 
It was just beginning to get dusk, my hands were caressing the white, firm flesh of her beautiful neck, slowly working their way towards the heaving bubbies a little lower down; at last I whispered, “What a fine, what a lovely bust you have developed since I saw you last, dear Annie, you won’t mind your cousin, will you, when everything used to be so free to each other; besides, what harm can there be in it?”
 
She seemed on fire, a thrill of emotion seemed to shoot through both of us, and for several moments she lay almost motionless in my arms, with one hand resting on my thigh. Priapus was awake and ready for business, but she suddenly aroused herself, saying, “We must never stop here, let us walk round or they will suspect something.”
 
“When shall we be alone again, darling? We must arrange that before we go in,” I said quickly.
 
It was impossible to keep her on the seat, but as we walked on she said, musingly, “To-morrow morning we might go for a stroll before lunch, Frank lies in bed, and my sisters are keeping house this week; I shall have to mind the tarts and pies next week.”
 
I gave her another hug and a kiss, as I said, “How delightful that will be; what a dear, thoughtful girl you are, Annie.”
 
“Mind, sir, how you behave to-morrow, not so much kissing, or I shan’t take you for a second walk; here we are at the house.”
 
Next morning was gloriously warm and fine; as soon as breakfast was over we started for our stroll, being particularly minded by papa to be back in good time for luncheon.
 
I gradually drew out my beautiful cousin, till our conversation got exceedingly warm, the hot blood rushing in waves of crimson over her shamefaced visage.
 
“What a rude boy you have grown Walter, since you were here last; I can’t help blushing at the way you run on, sir!” she exclaimed at last.
 
“Annie, my darling,” I replied, “what can be more pleasing than to talk of fun with pretty girls, the beauties of their legs and bosoms, and all about them? How I should love to see your lovely calf at this moment, especially after the glimpses I have already had of a divine ankle,” saying which I threw myself under a shady tree, close by a gate in a meadow, and drew the half-resisting girl down on the grass at my side, and kissed her passionately, as I murmured, “Oh! Annie, what is there worth living for like the sweets of love?”
 
Her lips met mine in a fiery embrace, but suddenly disengaging herself, her eyes cast down, and looking awfully abashed, she stammered out, “What is it? what do you mean, Walter?”
 

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